The Romantic Erotic Novel

Chapter 17 – Part 2, The Boot

This is chapter 17, part 2 of the Pleasing María novel. If you are under 18 years of age, or are offended by explicit descriptions of sexual activity or violence, or by strong language, please exit this site immediately. To view the Table of Contents of the novel click here. To go directly to the first chapter, click here. To read the latest novel post, click here. This is a rough second draft.

Chapter 17 – Part 2, The Boot

I didn’t have to wait long. PP caressed his genitals for a few minutes until his penis hardened. He removed a condom from his bag and flipped it to me, “Put this on.” I positioned it on my flaccid penis head, and he laughed, “On me, you idiot. You’re my bitch now.”

He wasn’t the first penis in my anus but he was the biggest, and it hurt, oh boy did it hurt, but I did it for my Master. I cried, I repeated I was a joto (homosexual) when he prompted, and I begged him to fuck me (I meant that part) as I looked into the camera lens. He’d have no problem disgracing me in public with that recording. At least I didn’t bleed.

He didn’t climax, it wasn’t sexual. He simply assaulted me, wanting to hurt and humiliate me, and he succeeded.

When he withdrew, he pushed me down flat on the floor, one foot on my back, and said, “I should kill you now, but I believe you. María hasn’t been faithful to me and I don’t kill for whores. You’ve done what I asked, and I’ll keep my part of the deal. Go keep your gutter whore for me, I’ll fuck her when I’m bored. She’s yours, but you’re still mine, and you may be useful to me some day.”

He grabbed my ankles, turned me over, and pulled me backwards until he sat back on the bed. He said, “This is for your whore, I’ll fix you nicely for her.”

He opened my knees and stepped on my genitals with his foot. He said, “You won’t need these anymore,” and he ground at my genitals. My penis flopped around and my testicles squished away from his foot as he ground. It hurt, but with a delicious pain.

I lay there, eyes closed, perhaps as close to ecstasy as a slave can get. After a few minutes, I guess he saw he did no real damage and he stopped. He reached into his bag and extracted a thin handkerchief, and handed it to me, “Tie it tight around your genitals.” While he slipped on his boot, I stretched the handkerchief diagonally and tied it around my penis and scrotum, packaging my genitals into a taut ball.

His boot was a leisure model with a ribbed sole and black mud around the edges.

His boot smashed my penis and testicles together, the pain in my penis was ugly, the pain in my testicles was exquisite. I knew PP was testing me, testing my allegiance, and I wouldn’t disappoint him. I accepted his control over my body, he had defeated me, he had taken María from me, he was my Master.

I raised my legs straight up, and raised my crotch to expose my genitals completely to his boot. I grabbed his ankle with both hands and moved the toe of his boot to position it solidly over my testicles, my offer of unconditional surrender to his supremacy. I pulled his boot down against my testicles to show him my testicles existed only at his pleasure. He needed only to crush them to end my existence as a man. I was a defeated dog offering my throat to the victorious dog, knowing by my gesture of submission, the winner would not rip out my throat.

PP chose to rip out my throat. He opened my legs wider and drove his boot into my testicles. He wore the cruel face of total triumph over me, the hated gringo. I squirmed under his boot, ecstatic with pleasure and pain, and in that moment I knew my destiny: PP would take my wife as his whore, he’d castrate me and maybe kill me there in the hotel. Or maybe I’d be his sex slave, and I had a vision of a future where I would always have his penis in my mouth or anus, and his boot on my genitals. I experienced the sensation of pure relief, of extreme sexual pleasure mixed with the pain of my crushing testicles. I felt I had encountered the reason for my existence, my perfect place in the world, a place with my testicles always ground under his boot. Our tryst was a fight to the sexual death, only PP could win, and I wanted to die at his hands. I knew then I wanted to be castrated by PP, my testicles obliterated. I begged him over and over, “Chíngeme, termínelo, cástreme, destrózame, por favor.” (fuck me up, finish it, castrate me, destroy me, please), while I waited for that final castrating blow.

PerfectPenis told me, “Tu esposa María es mí puta, tu eres mi puto guycito y tu serás impotente para siempre.” (Your wife María is my whore, you are my (male) whore, little Guy, and you will be forever impotent). He made me repeat and affirm the statement many times, affirming I was irrevocably his impotent bitch, little Guy. His erection bounced over me, a testament to his pleasure and sense of power from smashing my testicles.

PP continued grinding against my testicles with the help of my hands, and besides the exquisite pain, I felt my moment of paradise had arrived. I was in sexual nirvana, desiring the great relief, the intense pain of my testicles exploding, that would tell me I would never again have the burden of being a man or of pleasing a woman. I hissed at him between clenched teeth, “termínelo, máteme!” (finish it, kill me!). PP leaned into me, pushing against my testicles with all the weight of his body. I arched my body to absorb the pressure, pushing my testicles against his boot with my body. I moved my hands from his ankle to support my hips to give more force to my body pushing against his boot. We danced like that for a few minutes, pulsing and pushing and grinding. PP stretched my legs more, we stared eye-to-eye, fixed in a perverse dance of jerks and pulses, both burning with desire to hear the sound of my testicles exploding. Pain extended throughout my body and my body twisted and arched over the floor. I faded like I was losing consciousness.

Brilliant pure white light flooded over and through me. Is this the after-death light? Had my body failed from the pain? I hovered over my body, floating in a cloud of pure pleasure, looking down at PP with intense love, knowing I couldn’t live happily again without him. I swelled with pride to be his bitch, his joto. Maybe that’s what love is, being the bitch and joto of a real man.

Guy and PP jerked and grunted below me. Guy’s contorted body signaled his end was now. I re-entered Guy and at the same moment, we both gave strong, desperate pushes with our remaining strength, and …

nothing.

PP removed his boot from my testicles and fell back to sit on the bed, catching his breath. I lay on the floor barely moving, exhausted, shifting my legs to relieve the pain. We rested for a few moments still staring eye-to-eye. My groin and genitals screamed in pain, but I was apparently still physically intact.

I was desolate, empty, and desperate, and I cried. In desperation, I begged PP the honor to suck his penis again, to reaffirm my subservience. I pushed myself up and begin to kiss, lick and suck his genitals with more urgency than before – I wanted to return to the castration. PP grabbed my head and pushed his penis to the back of mouth and held it there. I gagged, gasped for breath until I became disoriented. PP withdrew and, pushed my body back to the floor. I was nauseous and suppressing the heaving of my stomach.

PP opened my legs again and I raised my groin, offering my testicles to his boot once again. PP stomped my genitals.

* * *

The sound of alien voices brought me back. There were several people in my hotel room, all indigenous people from the village. PP left the door open when he exited, and these curious people entered to see me naked, legs apart, my genitals exposed. Some of them asked me in Spanish if I was OK, and I told them yes, I had been castrated, but I didn’t need help. People entered and left the room, women, men, adolescents, and lots of children. The women and children were so colorful and cute in their native indigenous dress. The children pointed at my genitals and ran out laughing to return with more children. I didn’t move, I stayed exposed, showing my defeat, my humiliation to all. I was sure PP left the door open for this purpose, the public exhibition of my destroyed genitals was part of his plan for me. I explained to various people my Master had crushed my testicles. I had bruises and mud on my legs and genitals. I stayed in the same position for an hour or so, and I think the entire barrio passed through my room.

Finally an Israeli friend passed in front of my doorway and saw me on the floor. She came in, pulled me up on the bed without questions or comment, and she washed the mud from my genitals with the help of some children.

She helped me dress and walked me to the local clinic where a youngish doctor examined my testicles. She assured me although my testicles were swollen and sore, I would be OK. The doctor was bored, jaded and cynical – in this village where the outcome of fights between men was usually castration and death, and where thousands of hippies and druggies had passed through over the years. She had seen every kind of sexual perversion and pathology possible. She knew exactly I had participated in a voluntary castration attempt. She didn’t bother to ask what had happened, and her experience with this particular pathology told her I’d try it again until I succeeded. She explained although it’s very painful, it’s difficult to destroy the testicles by pressing them against the groin – the groin is soft and spongy. And just in case I wanted to attempt castration again, the guaranteed method of crushing testicles is to step on them solidly against a hard floor.

Because PerfectPenis wants me castrated, I want it too. We will succeed when I find him.

* * *

I continued to wrap-up the engineering project for a few more days, and I realized something had changed in the village. The young men stared at me and snickered among themselves when I passed by. The contempt on their faces told me I was a marked man. Even my work peers acted differently, and I explained to them I was fine – I had been assaulted but not castrated. But I was afraid – a castrated man was an open target, and it was dangerous for me to stay in the village. If I was caught in a solitary alleyway at night, I’d likely be raped, my genitals cut off and I’d bleed to death. So I only went out in daylight, and among colleagues.

I downloaded the new María/PP videos from the Internet. I edited several new video mixes that were so much more effective since PP’s face was clear. I watched them every evening – it was pure pornography, María porn, and I was addicted. Watching PP with María was a straight shot of dopamine that blew my head off. I lay on the floor, my legs straight up in the air, my groin raised – my right hand pumping my penis, my left hand became PP’s boot crushing against my testicles. I’d watch PP’s penis-only video, and squeeze my testicles as best I could. I hurt myself, but couldn’t tolerate the pain long enough to crush my testicles. That pleasure was reserved for PP in any case.

A few days later, I finished my work on the contract and left to Antigua. I spent a whole week there wandering the town, looking for PerfectPenis. The name PP had written on María’s thigh was fake. I didn’t know his real name, nor anything substantive about him, and I could hardly ask. I was desperate to pull semen from his penis again, and desperate for a definitive castration.

* * *

I passed by the Tanque de la Unión, and overheard a young indigenous couple on a bench reciting to each other. They were cute, laughing and kissing. I was sure their words were the same as I heard in the video with PP and María. When they finished, I asked them what they were saying. It was an affirmation they made after fighting or periodically, a few times per year.

I thought about María. I told her frequently, several times per day, I loved her, I wanted her. When my face pressed into her vulva, I swore my love on my life. I realized recently she rarely said it to me, usually just when I asked her specifically, when I cried in her vulva.

I asked the couple if their words would translate to the Spanish, te amo or te quiero (I love you or I want you).

“Not at all,” answered the man. “There’s not a direct translation, but the closest would be, ‘Juro que me estoy casado contigo‘” (I swear I’m married to you).

“So the phrase is only used by married couples?”

“Well yes. In our tribe, the phrase is also used to marry someone. It’s repeated by both the man and the woman, sometimes dozens of times, until both partners are satisfied and accept the recital. They become married.”

I felt dizzy and sat on the bench with the couple. María had married PP. She was in Antigua to arrange for our church wedding. Instead, she had fucked half the town and had married PP. Of course it couldn’t be real, couldn’t be legal, it had to be a joke – she was legally married to me.

The couple leaned over me, shaking me. I lay on the ground; I had fainted, but was otherwise OK. I thanked them and asked one last question,

“What if one or both of the couple are already married?”

“In our tribe, the previous marriages are annulled by the new declaration.”

I never found PerfectPenis, and I returned to Guanajuato.

End of book content.

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